


A Cut Above

by ShadowsOffense



Series: Split Ends [1]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Past Abuse, Pre-Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsOffense/pseuds/ShadowsOffense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place immediately after 2x03 “Broken.”  Kind of a prequel to “Cut to the Quick” but it’s not necessary (at all) to read that to understand this.  After Stowecroft, Cara and Kahlan’s relationship shifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cut Above

It was only after, with the splotch of the Mother Confessor’s white dress moving ahead of her along the forest path, that Cara recognized what had happened in Stowecroft. The realization froze her in her tracks, causing Lord Rahl to glance back at her, raising a questioning eyebrow. She returned his concerned look with a glare and made her feet start moving again. As he turned back around, Cara ground her teeth quietly together. The way he kept questioning her worth, her abilities, was humiliating; even in its sheep’s skin guise of consideration. She was no weakling to be looked after. _Even if...._ Cara swallowed. Even if she had just been re-broken.

Her eyes darted up to again find the white clad form sliding gracefully between the trees ahead of her, rather like a beam of sunlight, or a target. _Mother Confessor. **Mistress.**_ The second title tasted bitter on Cara’s tongue, but she could no longer deny the truth of it. She had miss read the situation, badly, and paid the adjoining price.

She had been broken by the Mother Confessor.

Her… Mistress. 

The honorific felt wrong. Like the dress Cara’s blood sister had bound her in. It felt like a lie; something trying to be what it was not. The Mother Confessor was an annoyance, a _pet_ of the Lord Rahl. Something to be tolerated for his sake, like the wizard. At best she was a useful tool. Not a Mistress. Not **Cara’s** Mistress.

The Mother Confessor, _Kahlan_ , was not a Sister. She had no command of pain. And, beyond her unique heritage of magic, Cara had thought her to be no one of importance. She was someone to be broken, _able_ to be broken with an agiel; no one worthy of a Mord’Sith’s respect. But the Mother Confessor commanded forces far beyond Cara’s understanding. Forces she had used, with the skill and precision of an agiel, to break Cara. For her impudence, her disrespect, for daring to think herself better.

Like a newly captured pet, Cara had hissed and spit at the Mother Confessor when the town curs had hauled her to that farce of a trial. She hadn’t been wrong, a part of the Mother Confessor… _Mistress Kahlan_ … had desired revenge. But that hadn’t been who faced her, impassive and serene. In this breaking, the Seeker, **the Lord Rahl** , had been her tool. Like a lesser Mord’Sith, striking when Kahlan bid, wearing Cara down until she broke. Until she _cried_. 

It had been so different from any of Cara’s other breakings, but there was no denying it for what it was. She _had **broken**_. She had been stripped of her dignity, her pride, her control as Mistress Kahlan and the Lord Rahl had systematically worked their way through her defenses with that weird emotional pain. Weakening her bit by bit until Cara shattered, asking for her fate. Until she submitted.

She had been trying, trying to adjust to their strange ways. Her attempt at compassion had not gone well. Cara glared at the back of Flynn’s head. She had behaved incorrectly, misunderstood their structure of command. Cara let her breath hiss noisily out from between her teeth. Now that she had been broken, Cara supposed her training would follow. The Confessor had already given her first order; **the** first order, of any Mord’Sith: protect the Lord Rahl. So it was not so different, so far.

Eyeing her new, Cara’s lip curled in disgust, _Mistress’_ backside, Cara considered simply disappearing. They had not bound her by magic as Mord’Sith where normally bound to the Lord Rahl. Nothing was forcing her to follow them, to continue submitting to this strange mastery. The Lord Rahl would even defend her right to leave, Cara was sure. It was a freedom she had never known. Safety lay in obedience; if she chose to serve, _Mistress_ Kahlan would see that she served correctly. But she didn’t have to, she could chose _not_ to serve and there would be no punishment.

_Maybe,_ Cara’s teeth bit down on her lower lip, _maybe the Mother Confessor would be worthy of serving after all._ She could try. She would learn. Cara would not give them reason to break her again.

….

They stopped by a stream for lunch and Cara had been strangely quiet. Even Flynn was leaving her alone. Kahlan frowned at the Mord’Sith; she had felt Cara’s eyes on her for most of the morning, but now her gaze was affixed to the ground as if it had been nailed to the dirt.

Apparently Richard had noticed too. “So, what wrong with it?” he asked Cara, teasingly. “Are we too close to the river to hear an enemy’s approach, too much cover about?” The Mord’Sith had not been hesitant to criticize their choice of stopping place every day since had she joined them. At least, every day after she had stopped criticizing their practice of stopping for no other reason other than _eating_.

“A quad could be over that ridge and upon us before we could draw weapons,” Cara answered succinctly, with her usual sneer, nodding at the far river bank.

Richard laughed and turned his attention back to Zedd. Cara’s quad would have to be uncommonly lucky to succeed, even with surprise on their side.

Kahlan rolled her own eyes and swallowed her mouthful of dried jerky. “Pass the water?” she asked Richard. The water-skin lay between him and Cara, but the Mord’Sith got there first.

Eyes again on the ground, Cara mutely set the object at Kahlan’s feet before moving quickly back to her seat. The Confessor felt her frown returning.

When they started moving, Zedd still chewing on the leftovers, Kahlan waited until she and Richard had pulled ahead. A quick glace back confirmed that the Mord’Sith was staring at her again. “Richard,” she touched his arm softly. “Does Cara seem to be behaving… _strangely_ to you?”

Richard looked over his shoulder and gave a little grin and wave at Cara’s return glare. “Nope.”

Kahlan rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Richard, even for her, she seems off. She keeps staring at me; she didn’t look at me all of lunch but now she’s watching me again.”

He shrugged. “Kahlan, I wouldn’t worry about it. After what happened it’s only natural that she’s a little uncomfortable around you now. I’m sure she’ll stop avoiding you soon enough.”

“Maybe,” Kahlan risked another quick glance over her shoulder. It didn’t seem like Cara was _avoiding_ her exactly. Kahlan couldn’t quite identify it and once again cursed her inability to read Mord’Sith. _This would be so much easier if I knew what she was thinking._ She tried to ignore it, asking Richard little questions about the various birdcalls above them, but Cara’s eyes on the back of her head made it impossible.

Stretching to relax the tension Kahlan could feel building in her shoulders, she half turned to look back at the Mord’Sith. As soon as their eyes met, Cara dropped her gaze away. That in itself was unusual, Cara always met her glare for glare. She aways….

Kahlan couldn’t help a gasp as the truth, invisible and potent as lighting, struck her. She waved away Richard’s look of concern. Cara wasn’t _avoiding_ her, she was _obeying_ her! It seemed absurd, but with an insight born of magic and practice, Kahlan couldn’t doubt her instinct. 

Shame and satisfaction warred within her. Kahlan hated the way her powers set her apart, causing complete strangers to look upon her with trepidation. Confessors were said to be respected, _but, in truth, we are feared_. Cara had never feared her; spirits knew she hadn’t respected her. Kahlan had never thought to see a Mord’Sith cowed. Even as she stood judgment over the woman, Cara had shown nothing but distain. Kahlan felt shamed to have now frightened her into compliance, but a darker part of herself enjoyed it. A little voice that whispered: _good, my sister’s murderer should fear me_. 

This shamed Kahlan even more.

She had never thought herself cruel. It was an awful fate she was holding over Cara. For anyone else confession would be a merciful way to be destroyed, for a Mord’Sith it was simply a return of all the pain they themselves inflicted. It was horrifying. It was something Cara didn’t deserve. _As much as I want her to, she doesn’t._

Kahlan sighed, stepping higher over some roots in the path. _I need to fix this._ She didn’t want Cara’s obedience, she wanted… she wanted her trust. What Cara was trying to do was admirable. Kahlan hadn’t believed in Cara’s conversion, hadn’t believed there was any humanity left within the woman. She had been wrong. She had seen only red leather as others saw only a white dress. Cara was more and Kahlan was only just starting to see that. It wasn’t fair. _I’m not supposed to like Dennee’s killer._ Kahlan sighed. _But how many people’s sisters have I killed?_ Her head jerked up from the path to stare unseeingly ahead. _How many of **Cara’s** sisters have I killed?_ Not that she was remorseful for it; Cara had even helped that one time. It certainly wasn’t the same. _But… still._

By the time the sun started to descend, setting a brilliant orange glow in the western clouds, Kahlan thought she had a solution. She also wondered if she had started to loose her mind. _This is probably one of the stupidest things I can do_. And looking at her life, Kahlan thought that might be saying something.

As they set up camp, Kahlan took the opportunity to slip away to change out of her Confessor’s dress and back into her traveling leathers. Carefully, she rolled the dress up and stuffed it back into her pack. Trudging back to camp, Kahlan ran a hand through her hair agitatedly. _No more putting it off_. 

She dropped her pack off by her bedroll and made her way where Cara was standing, looking supremely bored as she warded off Flynn’s attempts at conversation.

….

 

“Cara,” Kahlan cut the thief off mid word. “I need your help for something.”

“Of course, Confessor.” Cara’s face gave nothing away and she followed Kahlan complacently away from camp to the spot Kahlan had chosen earlier.

“Here.” Kahlan pulled her dagger out of its sheath and handed it to Cara hilt first.

The Mord’Sith looked down at the blade and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps its time to explain just what is it you need my help for.”

It took effort for Kahlan to maintain her confessor face, inside calm was elusive. “I need you to cut my hair.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. “What?” Cara blinked, looking stunned.

“It doesn’t do for the Mother Confessor to be going around with raggedy hair.” Kahlan’s hair was not that raggedy, but it had been a while, so it’s not like she wouldn’t have needed this done sooner or later. She looked into Cara’s eyes, willing her to understand all that she wasn’t saying. “Trim it for me. Please.”

She needn’t have worried about Cara’s understanding. Slowly, Cara took her gloves off and tucked them into her belt. She brought her bare hand to Kahlan’s to take the dagger. “Turn around,” Cara requested softly.

Kahlan did so silently, locking her knees to keep them from trembling. She felt Cara’s hands lifting her hair, arranging it, and couldn’t stop the deep breath that escaped through her lips.

“Where should I cut it?” Cara spoke softly, her breath warming the back of Kahlan’s ear.

“Where ever you want.” 

This time it was Cara who couldn’t stop her own shaky inhalation. When captured, a confessor’s hair, among other things, was taken from them. To subjugate them. Kahlan had won Cara’s service, won her place as Cara’s Mistress, and now she was giving Cara dominance over her? …Except, she wasn’t, exactly. What Kahlan was giving her, it couldn’t be taken. “I’ll try not to take too much. As little as possible.” Reassurance was against Cara’s nature, this was a promise, a pledge.

“Ok.” Oddly, Kahlan found herself relaxing under the Mord’Sith’s hands. Fleetingly she wondered what Cara had looked like when her hair had rivaled Kahlan’s. She had seen it, of course, but only briefly in chaos. And only braided. The rasp of the dagger’s edge against her own hair brought her attention back to the present.

True to her word, Cara removed a mere thumb width of the dark hair, tugging the curls straight to get a meticulously even line. There were even places where Kahlan’s hair was already shorter, places Cara left alone. The wavy nature of the confessor’s locks hid them anyway. 

Cara brushed away the loose hair with a sweep of her hand down Kahlan’s back. “Done.”

The confessor turned back to face her and Cara slid the dagger into its sheath, ignoring Kahlan’s widening eyes at the liberty. Honestly, Cara hadn’t thought twice about it. Fixing pieces, straps, buckles, whatever, of another’s clothing was second nature. Only after joining the Seeker had Cara had to manage her own leathers. 

Kahlan’s throat moved as she swallowed. “Thank you, Cara.”

Not for the first time, Cara noticed what an attractive woman the Mother Confessor was. She couldn’t tell if it was only the growing darkness that caused the other woman’s eye to dilate, or something deeper. Either way, the growing black into the confessor’s eyes served to bring Cara back to her senses and she pulled away. “We should get back.”

Kahlan nodded and stepped around Cara to lead the way. “Kahlan!” Cara blinked awkwardly as the confessor turned back around to face her. “Thank you.”

Kahlan dipped her head, a small smile touching her lips. “Come on.” She grabbed Cara’s wrist and pulled her back towards the others.

For the first time, Cara thought she might understand the concept of equals.


End file.
